Shopping at Nordstorms

I went to the big upscale mall in Tampa this week. The only reason I did this was daughter #2 attended a birthday party at Build-A-Bear. The thing about sending your children to a private school is that you get to hang out at ritzy places like Build-A-Bear, where you pay $40 to stuff and clothe a stuffed animal. I have been to this mall precisely three times. Each time I came to Build-A-Bear, and each time I left the mall without ever walking through it.

This time I was determined to explore it. I made sure that this would happen by taking my upscale I-carry-a-Coach-Purse-and-am-from New York girlfriend. She tolerates my ignorance of fashion and brand names and allows me to hang with her while she shops. I knew taking her to Tampa would get me through the mall and into stores, I have never stepped foot in before.

My children each brought their purses stuffed with the money from birthdays and allowances in anticipation of walking the mall. They were more excited about mall shopping than me. Madison purchased an outfit for her newly stuffed bear, Valentine, after the birthday party. She also bought a jeweled hair comb the size of my finger that cost $10. Darcy bought a gold headband, a necklace, and several handfuls of chicklet gum from every gumball machine we passed. My friend went into the Coach store and discussed buying a purse from the saleslady. I stood near the entrance and tried to keep my children's hands off of the merchandise.

By now, the mall was getting ready to close. We made our way back through Nordstrom's, the store where we had parked the car. (We parked it in the parking lot of Nordstrom's, not inside the actual store). My friend veered off into the purse department so that she could talk to another saleslady about another Coach purse, and we followed along. At this point, I began to panic. I intended to purchase something from this upscale mall, and while I did buy some hair products, it was from a well-known store in malls across the country and didn't count. Now was my last chance.

We got into the purse department, and my friend began her discussion. I stood and looked at the purse she was going to have to order as Nordstroms didn't have it in black. I admit I don't understand the need to spend that kind of money on a purse. I'm not sure what I would spend that kind of money on, but it wouldn't be on a teeny tiny bag that could only carry my cell phone and a package of Kleenex. Trying to look like I belonged in this department and didn't have disdain for people who spent fortunes on purses, I nonchalantly scanned items nearby.

My eye caught on a rack of thick, colorful slipper socks. While I live in Florida and wear only sleeveless pajamas and shorts to bed and turn the ceiling fan on so high that my husband wakes in the night and yells, "It's going to land," we do occasionally get some cold weather. Say in January or February, and I'm forced to concede and must cover-up. I'm not too fond of cold weather because my feet are always the appendages that suffer the brunt, and if my feet are cold, the rest of me is too, and if I'm cold, I am miserable.

I counterbalance this problem with warm slipper socks. Mine from last year were in bad shape, and so I made several hints regarding the sad state of said slipper socks, but while I received some lovely, comfy, warm pajamas from my good friend, Kelly, I did not get new slipper socks. Thus the rack of thick, colorful, Nordstrom slipper socks called to me.

Casually I strolled over to the rack, reached out, and dared to finger one. These were no Target slipper socks! Oh, the softness. The bottoms were adorned with various sized rubber dots to prevent slippage, and while only ankle-length, they had a bit of extra material that folded over to look like a real pair of socks. And the folding part was a different color from the foot part! How could I not partake?

I bought two pairs. At $12 apiece. The rail-thin model saleslady dressed in a leather sleeveless shirt coat with two buttons discreetly placed at chest level said to me, "Aren't these the best slipper socks, ever?" I responded in kind, and then she led me over to another rack where she pointed out a different type of sock.

These were in plain black, and while comfy, they were the brand I could get at Target. I own several pairs in various colors like lime green, and so with the full knowledge of a slipper sock expert, I alerted her to the fact that I already had these pairs, preferred the others, and claimed they would match my pajamas.

She rang up my purchases, wrapped them both in tissue paper as if they were Tiffany trinkets, and placed them in a small Nordstrom bag. Which I then twirled as I left the upscale mall complete in reaching my goal.

I can hardly wait to go back when its time for my friend to pick up her new Coach purse. I think I'll compare these slipper socks to those sold at Neiman Marcus.